Thursday, July 5, 2012

The Pantie Chronicles: Chapter 1

Like all things parenting, potty training has been a learning experience for both  Lady Baby and us. I feel I should share my knowledge. These posts are going to be a series,  because if I went through the last three weeks all at one time, your head would probably explode. Mine has come too close for comfort my friends. Way. Too. Close. Not only will it make it easier to follow our diaper-to-pantie journey in segments, if you need to reference this in the future for "what not to do's" it will be easy to locate the exact predicament you need. I was extremely nervous about potty training. I should have known what I think/feel/believe doesn't matter. I should have just given her the book to read. It would have been easier.

Nothing that I think mattered when it came to potty training. As Joe Dirt says, "It is not about you it is about the consumer." My suggestions were ignored. My advice not heeded. My directives were met with screams and stomping. For the first three hours of potty training boot camp, Her Highness sat on the potty everytime I asked. For the other 15 and a half days we have been sans diapers, my insistence on her sitting on the potty has resulted in one thing: excrement where it does not belong. It was a hard lesson to learn, mostly for me. Every book says to repeatedly ask the child if they need to go. Every thirty minutes. After a meal. When you wake up. Before bed. After snack. What the book does not tell you is what to do if she vehemently denies the need to go then takes a piss on the couch. So I will tell you exactly what to do if you have a child who is adverse to suggestion. Here is the big secret. STOP ASKING. In our case, this immediately lead to her telling me she needed to go or in most cases just going. Basically, the more I was sweating her, the more she was resisting. Too bad I did not figure that out until day three. Hard lesson learned. Once I gave her the control, she did great. She gets that whole, I have to be in charge of everything all the time or I will loose my shiz, from her Daddy.

Heaps O' Wet Panties
Day one of potty training was, for lack of a more precise word, wet. I call it the day of eight panties. That is a whole pack of Minnie Mouse undies from Target. Plus one. And that was all before 5pm. I had no idea that we would whiz (see what I did there?) through so many so fast. FYI: panties are not much of a blocker when there is wee gushing forth from a child. According to some hasty web research, a two year old's bladder should hold 4 ounces (age+2). If you would like to relive our first day of potty training walk around your house and dump four ounces of the liquid of your choice in various and sundry spots. Alternate that with rinsing out panties and trying to convince a mouthy Honey Badger to sit on the potty while changing its dress every 30 minutes. Mix in excessive carpet and floor scrubbing and running the washing machine several times. That is my day. Except the badger probably provides less sass talk and does not exclaim "I peepee'ed" every time it drowns Minnie Mouse. Which is very, very often. Eventually, we were out of panties, so I let her run around in just a dress. That day she peed on the floor three times in fifteen minutes. Surely some kind of world record.

I would rather pee on this floor than listen to you.
Day two showed improvement until I asked Miss Priss to sit on the potty before we went to Wendy's (only the best for us). Commence a 30 min power struggle. I was literally begging her to sit and try and she was steadfastly refusing. What's the problem, you ask? The problem is that my child thinks I am a dumb mommy with dumb mommy ideas. Like sitting on a tiny potty to see if any pee-pee will come out. As opposed to sitting down and standing up 2 seconds later, and declaring "all done." A two second try does not a happy mommy make. I was very worried she was going to pee in the car. She was very worried that if she does what I ask once, then she may have to do it again sometime her career as my child. She was crying and I was so mad I had to walk into my room and shut the door, with tears in my eyes. I couldn't let her see me wavering. When wild animals sense weakness, they attack. I never got her to sit and we were 20 minutes late to meet our friends. I drove the 8 min drive at 85mph, for fear the milk she was chugging would run straight through her and onto her car seat. We rushed into Wendy's, straight into our first public toilet experience. I did a cursory wipe of the potty and plopped her down. My beautiful little delicate flower had her hands and untarnished toush on a public toliet. Breathe. She looked at me with a little smile and said, "This is my most favorite potty." Cool. Now pee. She didn't pee then. In fact she did not go until she was back in that bathroom after lunch. Watching her early and amazingly easily potty trained friend Sam go Her Highness promptly peed on the floor. I suppose the sound of tinkle were too much. That was before I knew to carry both panties and a dress in a ziplock in my bag, so she rolled into the pool that day panties-only. Stayin' Classy.

Day three had to be better than day two, which ended with me rethinking if I was doing the right thing. I wasn't sure either of us were ready for potty training. After near tears and a pep talk from Hubs with rousing phrases like "don't let her beat you," I pressed on. Discouraged but hopeful. We started the day with a trip to Target for all things potty. I bought enough panties for a set of triplets with a UTI, added in Training Panties (poorly cut but heavily padded), and a book on pottying featuring Abbie Cadabbie that makes a host of annoying sound effects. We were on the home stretch of our Target circuit, working our way up through cosmetics and sunscreen. All of the sudden she let out a fart that a grown man at a truck stop would be proud to claim, and giggled, startling a very nice lady perusing the hair dye. Then Lady Baby uttered the phrase that will make mothers move mountains. "I have to pee-pee." As soon as I heard the sacred phrase, I dropped the nail polish I was looking at and started swiftly moving towards the front, frantically trying to locate the restroom. Her Highness, sensing the inevitable tinklage, starts screeching, "faster, faster, faster Moommmeeyy. I have to PEE PEE." I am pretty sure there are still cart tracks where we skidded out in front of the registers to make the turn. You haven't lived until you have run through Taret, dodging carts and praying to the potty training gods. But make it we did. And that was when I knew that we were going to be ok. We would both live through this ordeal. I would not die from stress and I would not kill my child in the process.


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